Page 89 of Outlaw Ever After

At his declaration, Seamus pulled back his reins, lifting his fist for his soldiers to do the same. His mount skidded in the mud and fought for footing, finally halting.

Nose to nose.

Steam puffed from the destrier’s nostrils as he tossed his head and grunted. Alexander’s heartbeat thundered a battle cry in his chest, his scythe still lifted, thirsty to spill the whoreson’s blood. Alpin beside him might indeed have fainted.

Seamus’s mount pranced in place. “Where is she?”

But he couldn’t do it to his songbird. Seamus might be hotheaded, but whatever Alex had just said seemed to have let off steam from Seamus’s boiling fury, reduced him to a simmer. A simmering broth could be cooled more easily now that the heat had been taken away.

“She brought the villagers their communion bread,” Alex seethed.

“That was hours ago. And I nay recall naming ye a proper chaperone.”

Alex shrugged. “She’s nay averse to my company like she is to yers.”

Seamus’s jaw tightened as if leashing back his own desire to swing his sword by a frayed tether. “I bet. Ye’re good at charming yer way into a lass’s heart. Nay so good at being a man about the consequences.”

That betrayal. The hurt that had silenced her song.

“Ye’re only still breathing because my sister begged me to leave ye be. But if ye’ve done anything else to her, I’ll have yer head.”

“Aye, the Grants are good at taking those, too.”

Seamus’s gaze narrowed in contemplation, and Christ, Alex was going to give himself away if he wasn’t careful. Finally, Seamus sat upright in the saddle, eyes perusing the village, searching.

“She’s nay here, Seamus. Once more, ye terrified her. She thought ye a band of reavers and hurried the bairns into hiding.” He willed Seamus to feel chastened. “Incredible, how a lass hears hooves and immediately grows terrified. How she flinches at a mere unexpected touch because a warrior raiding her castle once forced—” Nay, it wasn’t his story to tell. But Seamus’s eyes narrowed murderously, his jaw pumping. Had he never known? He hoped the realization festered in Seamus until it ate him from the inside out. “When all she wants is a simple life. A peaceful life. Who’s done that to her, me thinks? Couldna possibly be the brother that she should be able to trust the most. Is it any wonder she wanted to elope, to escape it all?”

They stared hard. Seamus’s chest rose and fell, but his anger had lost its fire. “Where is she?”

“Like hell I’ll tell ye. These folk might need to use such a place again, considering the friendly way in which ye pay a visit. Beat me if ye wish it. But nay harm these folk who keep yer verra arse sitting on its pedestal at the expense of their freedom. It nay takes a scholar to figure out that their name of Comyn and yer name of Grant do nay align in friendship.”

“They murdered my sire,” he growled, that fury simmering again.

“Which one?” Alex erupted. Nay to mention who had Seamus’s sire murdered? Or did Seamus absolve his father of that guilt?

Being pained was no excuse for inflicting more of it.

He turned and perused the villagers with mock surprise.

“This one, mayhap?” He hauled forth Aulay by his scruff. “Is he the one? Or mayhap this one!” He gripped another villager by the shoulder, dragging him forth, as Seamus shook his head to argue— “Nay be shy, Seamus!” Alex seethed. “Ye make an accusation, back it up by pointing a finger! Which of these Comyns murdered yer sire? We’re waiting with great suspense!”

Seamus remained silent, as did the others. Eyes narrowing, he finally spoke. “Mayhap I’m looking at him.”

Fok. An anchor sank in his gut.

“Or mayhap ye’re sorely mistaken, man.” He notched up his chin smugly. “But something tells me yer pride swells too grand to ever hear the truth when it’s easier to believe lies.”

Seamus studied him. But finally resigned himself on an exhale. “Produce her and return her to the castle. I just want her back.” Then he turned his reins and gestured for his men to follow, returning into the darkness from whence they’d come.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As Alex and Aulay ferried the bairns back to the village and Peigi back to the celebratory castle, her arms around him as he trotted Faunus through the woods, the fury wouldn’t abate. It coursed through his blood like rapids down a river.

He was proud of how selflessly she’d jumped to action and protected his kin, despite worrying about her health and his bitterness that she knew such deep-seated fear. And her admission about her—their —babe? Tonight, he’d seen firsthand the scars that a turbulent ocean scored on a soul when creating a resilient pearl.

Castles. Lands. What men thought were worth fighting for. A fight he’d harbored all his life. God had a twisted sense of humor to now make winning the very thing she resented the only way to keep her, the only way to uphold a laddie’s desperate vow over his sire’s corpse—the only way to make the past right.

He owed his folk a win. But he owed her peace. He owed everyone the truth.